


The Yule Girl

by SlaughterhouseLilly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cannibalism, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:07:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1778542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlaughterhouseLilly/pseuds/SlaughterhouseLilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Harry Potter AU inspired partly by the classic tales of the Brothers Grimm. Horror/suspense. Alternate universe minus Voldemort's rebirth and second reign of terror - but involves Hermione unwittingly becoming part of an archaic wizarding tradition in her seventh year at Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preparatory Matters

It was mid-September and the sky over London was dreary and unsettled: rather like murky porridge, the young witch thought. She shrugged and brushed her slightly bushy hair out of her eyes, then adjusted the scarf about her shoulders. Nearly there at least, and the train would be warm. The luggage trolley clattered along behind her over the irregular paving cobbles. Hermione glanced around the platform, pausing: no Muggles looking. Without hesitation, she rushed forward and through the invisible magical barrier onto Platform 9 and 3/4ths. Owls were hooting, students calling to each other and she had to step deftly aside to avoid a wizard wearing an tea-towel as a hat who was engrossed in reading a copy of Morfudd's Magical Guide to Maladies. She grinned to herself lightly, and shouldered her bookbag before plunging into the crowd. If she moved fast she could find Ginny and Luna, then hunt up a empty compartment in advance of Harry getting into some sort of unlikely trouble and being late. She could of course count on Ron spending an inordinate amount of time buying snacks from the cart and mucking about with Fred and George.

Having successfully navigated the tight corridors and managed to coax her luggage onto a yet-unclaimed rack (with a little discrete wand-work), Hermione snagged Luna by the arm and the two found Ginny shortly thereafter. An empty row of seats in the third car was procured and the young witches happily set to talking and comparing notes of their time away from the castle: Luna had apparently spent the time both perfecting her transfiguration spells and stalking something called the Bay Marsh blood-bogey, and Ginny had been traveling in France to see some wizarding relatives who were part of a distinguished coven dating back to the 1600's. They were soon joined by Harry and Ron, who proceeded to noisily play a game of wizard chess. The Hogwarts Express sped through the empty fields and over rocky gorges as night fell, and Hermione Granger was blissfully unaware that even at that moment she was being earnestly and privately discussed by school staff at the very castle she was heading towards.

Deep inside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a meeting was set to begin. The tiny Charms teacher, Professor Flitwick, bustled through the door of the staff lounge last: he was running late. The room itself was rather worn and aged. A slightly cracked teapot rocked lightly over a magical fire, a particularly ugly looking bust of a warlock snored on a pedestal, and a few stray bewitched books occasionally fluttered about the ceiling.

The lack of grandeur of the room was quite overshadowed by the waiting occupants, however. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was standing near the stone bust, gazing contently at the flapping books. Minerva McGonagall was conferring with Professor Sprout, both holding teacups and sitting as close to the edge of a stained and decrepit looking couch as possible. Seated near them, dreamily unconcerned, was Madame Trelawney, Divination teacher, and renowned but less well-liked Potions master Severus Snape was leaning against a book case, dark eyes as cold and watchful as ever.

"Ah, Filius, there you are!". Dumbledore grinned and stepped forward, adjusting his narrow glasses to prevent them slipping down his long nose. "Excellent, that is all of us then. We can begin."

"Sorry I'm late, Albus", squeaked Flitwick. "Spot of trouble on the way...Mr. Filch was cleaning up after Peeves decided to spell out some rather unfortunate phrases using a can of paint he found somewhere, and did so all over the suits of armor on the third floor. So that had to be rectified since Argus was already late to go down with Hagrid to meet the students."

Dumbledore inclined his head lightly, and cleared his throat. His sharp gaze moved around the room before he spoke.

"Now then, to get right to it. I have decided the time is ripe once more to renew one of the fine ancient traditions of Hogwarts: the selection of a Yule Girl. Some of you may not be familiar with the practice. It has been a good while, at least since Madame Kurtz's reign as Headmistress, that this particular ceremonial observance, shall we say, has been undertaken."

"Am I to understand, Albus," ventured Professor McGonagall, "that you have deliberated over this and selected one of our students? And you understand the full implications of this selection?". As she spoke, Professor Sprout merely looked rather confused, while Snape was watching the two of them very closely. His dark eyes were inscrutable as always, but a slight frown of concentration displayed his clear interest in the subject.

"Yes, Minerva, that is correct. I am fully aware of what will have to occur once a selection is made. The students, of course, will not understand at the start. But it is a great honor and the selected witch will quite enjoy most of the process, even if she does not realize precisely what is happening until later on. I can trust all of you to support the young woman and my decision in this matter?". Murmurs of assent greeted this query, with Snape stepping forward after a brief pause.

"Headmaster...if I may be so bold...whom, may I ask, are you considering for this particular honor? I daresay there are some considerable factors in that decision: age, surely, and physical status among them...given the rather intensive and specialized nature of the preparation before the culminating event."

"Right you are, Severus, and my choice was one I deliberated over a good deal. The young lady seemed a prime candidate given her prominence, obvious skill and renown amongst her peers. I trust you all would not object to the selection of Miss Granger for the Yule Girl? I feel she is quite up to it and will benefit greatly from this honor, as well as honoring us all on staff and amongst the student body."

The other staff members looked to each other: Flitwick shrugged lightly, and nodded his assent to McGonagall. Just as Minerva was about to speak, Professor Trelawney rose dramatically, her thin frame shaking lightly. Her eyes (for the time being anyway) were clear and focused, and she spoke with stronger intonation than usual.

"I am Seeing, Albus...Seeing into the beyond. This is what must be, it is prophecy! The unseen world slides into place around us all here: it must be the Granger girl, she is the one. We must begin tonight, or the consequences could be disastrous! The voices of the Other deem it so."

"Well, then, it appears the matter is settled. Thank you, Sibyll." Dumbledore grinned and winked lightly at McGonagall as he turned, then addressed Professor Flitwick once more.

"Your skill with charms makes you the obvious choice to set things into motion, Filius...tonight at the welcoming feast, perhaps? The spell as I understand it is a simple one, once the pronunciations are worked out. Some of these old spells can be rather fussy, you know: with the specific intonation. Would not do it all to say it wrong and turn poor Miss Granger into a dirigble plum: quite undignified."

The tiny Charms professor nodded his assent, assuring the Headmaster the spell would be a simple one indeed: all he needed was a clear line of sight on Miss Granger and perhaps ten seconds uninterrupted to perform the incantation and wandwork. From there, the young lady would do the rest herself. The instructors filed out of the small staff room in a loose grouping, heading to the great hall to welcome students back for another year.

Outside, the thestral-drawn carriages pulled to a stop before the castle entry. Hermione shivered lightly and pulled her loose robes tighter about her: a chilly breeze was sweeping in over the lake and towards the grounds of the school. She let herself be swept along in the wave of eager students, just looking forward to a hot mug of cocoa and a freshly-made roll or two to warm her up. Up ahead, Harry was talking earnestly to Ginny about something while Ron tried to covertly ogle out the nearest fifth-year girls. Honestly, when would he get a clue about how to approach women...? Some day soon, she hoped, for his own sake. It was rather pathetic to watch.

As usual the Great Hall was a riot of warmth and noise. Friends greeted friends, owls and toads vocalized and the ever-present masses of floating candles hovered overhead. The brown-haired witch proceeded down the long house table for Gryffindor, and found a seat next to a couple of chattering second years. Ron and Harry were seated across from her, and in usual form, the youngest male Weasley was digging into a heaping pile of food with undignified enthusiasm. Hermoine rolled her eyes slightly but hid a small grin: some things never changed.

Reaching into her bag and producing a thick textbook (Translating Mermish), Hermione set about munching her own rather meager selection of food. She was reading a particularly interesting passage about the many different phrases merpeople had for describing coral when she began to feel rather lightheaded. Carefully putting the book down, she glanced around. Was someone cursing her as a prank? But all the students she could see were busy eating or talking (or both, in the case of a rather loutish looking Slytherin who was spraying food chunks everywhere).

Still, the feeling persisted. Her head swam strangely and she felt a little dizzy. She must not have had enough to eat, that was it. She had not eaten on the train and scarcely touched her dinner. She resolutely pulled her plate towards her and heaped it high. Everything looked good and she grabbed at items randomly: cuts of meat, several rolls, a wedge of cheese, a hearty scoop of lamb stew. Odd how she hadn't noticed being so hungry on the train ride in. The young witch set to her meal with gusto, downing pumpkin juice as she went, her glass handily refilling itself as needed. The food was delicious and just what she needed to put her right.

Hermione was so intent on serving herself another plateful that she never even noticed that Professor Flitwick had his wand out and pointed directly at her from the staff table. More than once one of the other instructors would glance over: the charm was a hardy one, and non-expiring. The young witch would be constantly craving food and her appetite increasing until the big event in a few months' time.

By the end of the meal some twenty minutes later, the young witch felt much better. However, she felt her attention waning slightly during the traditional pre-term speech by the Headmaster. She felt almost as if she were ready to doze off contentedly in the warmth of the Great Hall. She normally never ate so much: what had gotten into her? It wasn't until she rose for the usual rather offbeat (but enthusiastic) rendition of the school song that she noticed exactly how much she had consumed. She rose easily enough, but her usually loose robes felt oddly snug. Looking down, Hermione was rather shocked to see her stomach slightly bulging. No wonder she felt so lazy and tired. She had rather badly over-eaten it seemed, and her cheeks flushed red as she pulled the front of her robes down to try and straighten them to cover the slight bulge.

What was she thinking, to take three helpings of pudding after the huge portions she had for the mains? She usually ate small portions and the over-stuffed ache of her stomach was rather mortifyingly uncomfortable. She hoped no one would notice the way she waddled out of the hall. Hermione was so busy trying to cover her lightly-rounded belly she didn't notice the way Ginny openly stared at her with eyebrow raised. In addition she missed the critical attention of a few of the teachers who were mouthing the words to the traditional Hogwarts anthem rather half-heartedly as they eyed the young witch from a distance.

As the Great Hall emptied, Hermione pushed herself up from the long bench rather unsteadily. She still felt a little light-headed, but she attributed that to overdoing it so with the feast. She chatted to Harry and Ron as she walked (as usual, recommending several texts she was sure they'd never actually bother to crack open for a look) and did her best to ignore how stuffed she felt. She felt herself growing a little winded as they ascended the many oddly-angled staircases to Gryffindor Tower and her midsection rumbled slightly: that settled it. She had to get her appetite under control. Tonight surely had just been a fluke, the cold weather and some weird mental urging combining together or something.

Once she had bid goodnight to her friends and passed through the enchanted portal to the girls' sleeping area, the young witch paused in front of the aged mirror hanging on the wall. For the moment, it was just her in the room: no sign yet of her bunk-mates. She was slightly shocked at what she saw and bit her lower lip. From the side, her stomach noticeably swelled outwards in a small bulge. What had she been thinking, to gorge herself like that? She idly ran a hand over her stomach and then pushed her skirt down below it without thinking. It felt a little better like that, even though her belly still gurgled and sloshed uncomfortably, putting her in mind of a hot water bottle. As she settled into bed her thoughts were still uneasy and rather unsettled. This had to stop, and immediately. Tomorrow she'd go light on the meals, and practice more physical spellwork during breaks in class. She tried very hard to ignore the quiet (but growing slightly louder) voice in her head that insisted she was hungry again once more as she drifted off to sleep.


	2. An Encounter With Snape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione runs afoul of the Potions Master - but is his advice for her own good?

A few weeks into term passed and things mostly settled into their normal routine for Hermoine and her classmates. As per usual, her class schedule was jammed full with courses Ron and Harry rolled their eyes at (Advanced Occlumency and Conversational Mermish to name a few). She attended Quidditch practice, helped instructors with organizational tasks as such opportunities came up, and hung out with Ginny and Luna when they had free moments. However, one major change to her habits took place, given the secretive spell was still at work over the young witch: her meal breaks grew increasingly longer as the weeks went by. Even more unusually, a plate of pastries or snacks she had contrived by not necessarily 'by the rules' means to receive from the kitchen was always at her side in the evening as she studied or did coursework.

When Ron had unwisely tried to raise the subject of her increased appetite and the physical effects, Hermione's steely unamused glare and cold declaration of him minding his own business shut down that line of communication fast (along, doubtless, with fear of hexes to follow). There was no denying the young woman had steadily increased in size however: when Ginny ventured to ask about such with rather more tact than her older brother, she merely got a shrug and vague answer that her friend 'just always felt so hungry lately'. Hermione had made a not-overly-successful attempt to combat her raging appetite and eat with more restraint: but the lack of food and constant hunger pangs had proven too much for her to conquer, given they distracted her from her usual total concentration in class and made her even more irritable when she found herself unable to contemplate the most basic coursework till she had downed enough extra servings of roasted goose or treacle tart to quell her longing for more foodstuffs.

So it was that Hermione found herself headed down to the dungeons of the castle one wintery November day. She took her time on the steep stairs, not wanting to tumble and injure herself due to her added bulk. All the same being late for Potions with Professor Snape would be unwise. She got inside the chilly dungeon classroom just in time and quietly whispered the standard enlarging charm over her selected seat (now needed for her to be able to fit her frame into the school desks at all). Her cheeks were rounded like a chipmunk's, and the soft swell of a double chin was just beginning to show. Her arms and legs were thickened considerably and she had taken to wearing longer skirts in order to somewhat cover her enlarged stomach.

Still, the rather snug cut of most of her robes and more casual Hogwarts vests outlined the size of her growing belly fairly mercilessly. If she stopped and thought about it exactly how much weight she had put on troubled her mind a bit: but most of those thoughts were washed away at next mealtime by the gnawing desire for more food and the pleasure she felt when eating a particular favorite item or snack. Her stomach rumbled uncomfortably as the lecture began and her mind wandered afield to what might be for dinner as her fellow classmates around her all began taking notes about the different varieties and uses of oceanic kelp in potion-making. Snapping out of it, she rushed to grab her quill and a piece of parchment to catch up with what had already been said.

Unfortunately for Hermione, her delayed reaction time and distraction as she gathered her supplies meant she flat-out missed the question Professor Snape had directed at her. She knew she was in trouble when she looked up and saw most of the class staring at her in frank astonishment: the way they saw it, of course, Granger never missed a question. Worse still, Snape was looking at her with an eyebrow raised and a small smirk on his narrow face. Her plump cheeks reddened and she stammered out into the expectant silence.

"I-I'm sorry, Professor, I was distracted. Please, could you repeat the question?". At those words the dark-cloaked figure seemed to be even more lazily amused, though his expression betrayed little.

"Very well, Miss Granger, but that will be five points from Gryffindor for your lack of attention. Now, if you would be so kind as to rise...come here, to the board...and chart out for us the potion-making attributes of order Oceanus Rictus as pertaining to memory potions? I am sure your classmates would find it most instructive. And do hurry, regardless of your...condition. We do not have all lesson for you to waste with your laziness."

Hermione stood, flustered now and heart pounding in her chest. Snape's mocking tone and clear jabs at her size had found their mark, but she moved as quickly as possible to the front of the dungeon in order to get the information written down and her forced moment in the spotlight over with as fast as possible. Professor Snape stood to one side, cold eyes betraying nothing and idly stroking his chin as she wrote. She tried her best not to let the presence of the man distract her, but her head seemed fuzzy and trying to think of the correct answer was like swimming through molasses. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm down. She knew the attributes by heart and all she had to do was get it down then go back to her seat. The intense gaze of the potions master was very unsettling but she managed to finish her answer.

As she stepped back and was about to retreat to her seat, her eyes happened upon the neat list she had just written. Somehow in her haste, she had managed to give completely the wrong list of potion-making tips: the attributes of various poisonous weeds instead of the asked-for classification. Her face grew even redder and she could feel her limbs shaking with shame and nervousness. But her humiliation was not yet complete.

"Ah...too, too bad." Snape's voice startled her back to reality, coming from directly at her right shoulder. "A further ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger. I did warn you about lack of attention. You will be staying after class in order to rectify this: I think the sorting and portioning of whip-tailed scorpion parts will do nicely. Back to your seat."

Once seated, Hermione tried to shrink down as small as possible and did not dare glance around. This was horrible. She had never had a class period go so badly before. What was wrong with her? Even as she tried to marshal her thoughts and concentrate once more, her large stomach growled and she couldn't help but softly stroke it in attempt to will it to calm down. She scarcely could concentrate on the lesson as her fellow students answered questions (or failed to and were subsequently verbally chastened by Snape). Her mind felt scattered and foggy and her stomach roiled heavily: it was like a nightmare.

All too soon the lesson ended and her classmates filed out. She was left alone, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, with Professor Snape. It seemed to her he took his time re-sorting the ingredients left out and cleaning off student workstations before swinging his thin face around to regard her. His dark eyes were inscrutable and critical as always.

"Well, Ms. Granger. An unusual circumstance indeed. You usually manage to avoid coming off as doltish and ill-prepared as the others. What a shame."

Hermione colored slightly and bit back a response, not wanting to rise to the bait. She saw a small ridiculing smirk twisting the Potion Master's face. He stepped closer and his cloak swirled around him in the batlike manner that accompanied his gliding walk. To her dismay, she could see the unsavory glint in his eyes that usually accompanied him snidely mocking Harry or some other student who managed to incur his displeasure.

"I must say I am a touch disappointed. You do not usually strike me as such a dullard, even if you keep questionable company and can't hold your tongue from wagging without being asked first."

As he spoke the potions master circled her softly and his dark eyes never left her face. Hermione did her best not to flinch backwards or let her expression betray her growing sense of shame and dismay. Snape tilted his head sideways lightly and seemed to consider her, and she knew what he must be seeing: her increased girth and protruding stomach. She bit her lower lip nervously. This was getting worse by the minute.

"Professor...please, if you want me to help prepare ingredients..."

"Quiet, Granger. I am not finished and did not ask you to speak."

Snape did not even have to raise his voice to quell her: his tone was icy and abrupt enough to silence most any student with a single word. She nervously swallowed and tried to ignore her rising feelings of unease. Her instructor then continued, when it seemed certain she was done interrupting.

"Perhaps you've been neglecting your studies, hmm? A shame. Especially as it looks to me as if you have let your studying habits slide in favor of...more physical pleasures. Dulling your mind in favor of repeated sessions of stuffing yourself like a common, lazy muggle. One would almost think you enjoy the attention and the feeling of being spoiled that comes with acting like a hog."

Hermione bit back a sharp retort and swallowed awkwardly, trying to force herself to remain calm. If she argued it would doubtless only get worse. She would not let Snape have the satisfaction of seeing her openly cry as part of her seemed to want to. Her eyes itched and burned but her face remained passive. The professor circled her once more with that same unpleasant smirk on his face, and before she could even begin to formulate a reaction to those awful words, he had pulled his wand from a inner pocket of robes and jabbed her in the stomach with it.

"As I thought: overfed and as solid as a stuffed boar."

Hermione now was beyond the point of being able to respond logically. She was starting to be truly scared and overwhelmed. Her throat felt locked up tight and the tender expanse of her belly ached slightly from that cruel jab. Snape merely regarded her coldly, his wand now palmed in one long-fingered hand.

"That will do, Miss Granger. Do see your inattention does not distract you during my lessons again. And a word to the wise: be careful with your appetites. The lazy and easily-indulged often find out the hard way what happens for failing to master yourself. Others might not be as...kindly...as I have been."

And with that, the potions master waved his wand and the dungeon door creaked open as he stood aside to let the rather flustered and unnerved young witch pass him to exit.

She distractedly headed up to the Gryffindor common room taking her usual route: a hidden passage behind a large portrait of several monks, a moving staircase, and finally a straight shot to the portrait of the Fat Lady. After uttering the current password (frumious bandersnatch) she was inside and immediately sought out Ginny. The two found a corner and Hermione haltingly let out the tale of what had occurred: her humiliation and concerns. At last the younger witch managed to calm her down with soft words and gentle strokes to her chestnut-colored hair (as one would use to soothe an anxious pet) and helped her upstairs to the sleeping quarters to rest.

When Ginny left her alone, Hermione at last managed to get her thoughts in order by reading a book of ancient Wizarding history which required careful translation. As she read, she began to snack on a carefully stashed bag of orange-swirled fudge and peanut clusters without even realizing she was doing so. Slowly her mind settled down and her stomach was satiated, yet she still continued to eat. The words of warning and snide comments from Snape went entirely forgotten as she ate and her stomach settled down. By the time she has finished the bag, her eyes were starting to close on their own accord and the issue of exactly how large she had gotten had fled from her mind entirely.


	3. Hallien And The Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's fate is revealed.

For a time, things were uneventful. Classes settled back into their normal cadence and Hermione continued her now-usual routine. Breakfast was often undertaken alone as early as she could rise from bed (in order to pile her plate high with less-convenient foods like waffles drenched in syrup and berries with cream). She would skim a book and depart as the majority of students began arriving, cramming several rolls into robe pockets as she went. Morning classes went by in a blur most days given the level of studying she did in preparation and her desire not to be caught off guard again as she had been in Potions.

She was a bit slower to answer questions in classes but her homework remained spot-on and her exam grades never flagged, regardless of most of her time being taken up in class itself with merely watching and listening as she idly massaged her swollen belly (an activity she found strangely calming and helped her to be able to concentrate on the class around her).

In the afternoon, lunch was a leisurely affair. She had taken to sitting with Ginny and the Patil twins mostly, though Harry joined them occasionally for the sake of being rather more thoughtful than Ron when it came to matters of friendship. In front of her fellow students she tried to limit herself to two platefuls: however, a discrete undetectable expansion charm placed on a small bag she carried and a free period directly afterwords from lunch meant she could still indulge herself once out of view of the main dining hall.

She would waddle to her afternoon classes and then spend a leisurely few hours till dinner concentrating on her coursework and studies (bags of sweets purchased by mail-order from Honeydukes closes at hand naturally). Dinner would follow, where she might indulge in two desserts, then an evening gathered in the Gryffindor common room with Ron and Harry among others now that she could focus without having to compete with stuffing herself at a mealtime and therefore act more 'ladylike' for their benefit. Her swollen waistline and thick ball of a stomach doubtless did not go unnoticed, but tact (or fear of swift hexes) kept Ron in line from making too many indiscreet comments.

December came to the castle and grounds as it always did: snow covered the pathways and trees out of doors and icicles hung from steep roof peaks. Inside, twinkling lights and holly were strung on suits of armor and from doorways and the usual assortment of Christmas trees lined the Great Hall. The weather was cold and damp in several parts of the castle and so many students were to be seen be bundled in extra sets of robes. Hermione naturally found herself well insulated due to her new layer of body fat (though the tradeoff was the increasing tightness in her wardrobe no matter how often she managed to procure new sets of robes and Muggle clothing alike).

She had been asked to stay behind and assist Professor McGonagall with study plans a few times in recent weeks, but thought nothing of it and was rather honored by the request for assistance. During these occasions, the young witch did not seem to notice the rather analytical gaze of her head of house as she worked diligently and discussed organization of material. She also did not seem to find untoward the unexpected gift which arrived by owl for her one afternoon as she studied: a fancy box of rich cream-filled chocolates which included a rough-lettered note from Hagrid explaining it came from France and he thought she might enjoy it given she had traveled abroad before. The chocolates soon enough found their way to padding out her substantial midsection. By the time preparations were underway for the annual school Yule Ball, Hermione had gained nearly thirty-five pounds (most of it going to her thighs, stomach and rounding her previously rather sharp-angled face.)

It was a slightly gloomy Friday afternoon, the day before the Yule Ball, and Hermione was seated with Luna down by the edge of the lake. The giant squid lazily waved a few tentacles out of the water as the two witches tossed pieces of bread to it, chatting comfortably. Ron, Ginny, and Harry were off at Quidditch practice and there was no telling how long that would take. It was likely to be full dark before they'd be back in from the practice fields. Hermoine focused her attention once more on what her friend was saying (she had let her mind wander a bit to what might be for dinner).

"And daddy says we might go to India, they have skinchangers there, and little sweet burrow-pixies...", Luna continued.

The brown-haired witch merely smiled and listened until her attention was diverted by movement behind Luna and over her shoulder. If the sun had been bright in the sky, she may well have not seen the silent gliding figure coming closer. In the overcast, however, the transparent figure was just visible against the grey rocks and green grass behind them.

"Ah, Miss Granger, excellent! Here you are."

Hermione rose slowly due to her girth and walked forward to meet Nearly Headless Nick as he glided forward, feet hovering well off the ground. He adjusted his neck ruffle carefully and his partly severed head shook the slightest bit.

"What is the matter, Nick? How can I help you..?", she enquired. It was rare to see the school ghosts leave the castle interior after all.

"Oh, nothing the matter, I assure you. Merely Professor McGonagall wished me to find you and bids you to meet her and Professor Dumbldedore in the fourth floor corridor, by the tapestries. Something important about a research project, I believe she was saying. Best hurry along, young lady: they await you!"

Nick smiled down at her gently and Hermione nodded, then bid a hasty farewell to Luna. McGonagall...and Headmaster Dumbledore? What could this be about? Her stomach rumbled nervously and she tried to chase away the paranoid thoughts swirling in her mind: her classwork was not up to the expected level, someone had been in an accident, she was in trouble somehow. She had to get a grip on herself, she scolded her mind firmly. Everything was going to be fine.

A brisk (but not too fast) walk brought Hermione to the front doors of the castle. She strolled as casually as possible up the moving staircases to the fourth corridor, rubbing her stomach absently. Rounding a corner, she caught site of Minerva McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore. The head of Gryffindor was merely waiting with arms crossed and back ramrod straight, while Dumbledore seemed to be appreciating the nearest tapestry (an underwater scene which appeared to depict grindylows and mer-people playing some sort of game resembling cricket).

Hermione nervously cleared her throat and the Headmaster turned, his brilliant blue eyes alighting on her behind half-moon spectacles. He grinned widely and spread his arms.

"Excellent! I see Nick found you without too much trouble, Miss Granger. And I do hope we did not cause you undue alarm. No, nothing to fret about whatsoever: Professor McGonagall and I have good news for you, as a matter of fact, pertaining to tomorrow's rather splendid feast. Isn't that right, Minerva?". With that, the ancient wizard turned partly to his fellow teacher, beaming.

"Right you are, Albus. An...honor, shall we say." The woman's voice was restrained as always: polite but straight to the point. Her sharp eyes took in Hermione and she inclined her head lightly to indicate the young woman should come closer to talk.

"Please...Professor, Headmaster...I don't understand. We have the Yule Ball every year. It isn't...a competition, like with the Goblet of Fire. What sort of honor do you mean...?". The young witch walked closer to her instructors, trying to will herself to remain calm. No harm could come to her here, after all: she just wished she understood better what was happening.

"Well, you are of course familiar by now with the practice of selecting a Head Girl and Boy each year from among our students. You might consider this as something similar, although a more temporary position. A place of honor at our Yule Ball which is awarded now and again to a talented young witch who displays...particular talents, shall we say."

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out, feeling slightly relieved. McGonagall crossed to the young woman and smiled slightly, her tone lighter than usual when she spoke.

"All will be well, Miss Granger, provided you can follow the few instructions involved and comport your self well as befits our school."

Dumbledore beamed down at Hermione as she listened.

"Right you are, Minerva: well said!". With that, he turned back to once more speak to Hermione.

"Now, I know you have a rather particular passion for the rights and well-being of our house-elves if I am not much mistaken? And you know of course some who work here...Dobby, and dear Winky. They and their co-workers are quite invaluable to the running of this school, especially when it comes to all of us receiving our meals on time."

With that, the wizard winked softly and Hermione noticed a little uncomfortably that his gaze seemed to travel to her wide stomach for just an instant.

"I-yes, Headmaster, I have been very interested in house-elf rights. And I have met Dobby and Winky before both...they, well. They have helped Harry and I before."

Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly, given that their previous encounters with the house-elves also tended to involve rather blatant breaking of school rules and combat situations. She tilted her head, confused by this seeming turn in the conversation.

"Very good, very good indeed! Well then, I shall take my leave of you. Minerva, you I think will escort Miss Granger and the elves for the next stage of preparations...?".

When McGonagall nodded, Dumbledore beamed and stroked his long beard.

"Excellent. Miss Granger, thank you for your time, and I look forward to your presence tomorrow night in the place of honor. If you will all excuse me, I believe Rosemerta is to have sent along a excellent mulled wine with my name on it and there are several Muggle knitting magazines which require my attention. A very good evening to you both."

With that, the Headmaster turned and was gone down the corridor. Hermione scarcely had time to ask what would happen next when a resounding CRACK sounded down the stone corridor. Standing before her and the Gryffindor headmistresses were two house elves: one in a clean tea towel knotted at the bottom, and the other in an odd assortment of colorful fabrics, a pair of tiny shoes, and a knitted cap.

"Hermione Granger!", squeaked the more eccentrically clothed of the two. The house elf beamed up at her and his golf-ball sized eyes were wide and shining.

"Dobby is always glad to see the friends of Harry Potter! Come, Dobby and Winky will show you the kitchen, friend Dumbledore asked us."

With that, the beaming elf took Hermione's hand in his own and tugged lightly. Hermione could not help but grin down at them both, and she smiled particularly at Winky, who had been still new to the castle last time they met.

"Thank you Dobby, and Winky too. I hope you both have been well? It is good to see you."

At that, the female house elf smiled nervously and sketched a curtsy as the two led her forward towards a passage which was revealing itself as a suit of armor on a pedestal slid sideways to allow access. As the young witch moved forward with the tiny elves, she turned back briefly at the sound of Professor McGonagall's voice.

"Fare well then for now, Miss Granger. I need not tell you to mind your manners, I think, but remember to treat the kitchen staff with courtesy and obey their requests. I will see you soon doubtless."

And with that, the elderly witch was gone down the corridor in a swirl of robes and Winky and Dobby led Hermione carefully down a twisting stairway, presumably to the kitchen facilities hidden deep within the castle.

The dark passageway eventually led to a very large room. It was brightly lit and in the center stood four long tables, mimicking the position and size of the house tables directly overhead in the Great Hall. As Hermione understood it, once the food for each meal was completed it would be placed on each table in the center and then a charm took effect, transferring the loaded platters and dishes upstairs in the same positions. All around her and her guides, more house elves bustled to and fro, working.

Around the perimeter of the room massive ovens baked loaves of bread and rolls and giant cauldrons for sauces and stews were attended either by an elf on a ladder, or here and there a wooden spoon or whisk stirred itself in the mixture as magical flames lapped at the cauldron from below. Some elves were busy decorating cakes or making sweets, and still others turned huge portions of meat lashed to metal spits over fires with over-large oven mitts dwarfing their small clawed hands. Hermione looked around her, rather astonished by the scale of it all: doing so, she missed the fact some elves were staring at her rather openly or conferring behind cupped hands and pointing at her.

Still leading her and clutching her hand, Dobby escorted the witch across the kitchen deftly and steered her around clutches of elves working and cooking equipment that blocked the way. He halted before a human woman who had her back turned (she seemed to be in the process of tasting a bubbling stew) and cleared his throat softly before speaking.

"Miss Hallien? Dobby has brought Hermione Granger to help you as he said he would!", the elf squeaked and beamed.

Hermione was rather surprised to see another human working the kitchens, as she had thought only the house-elfs managed their cooking and meals. The witch turned slowly and put the wooden spoon back into the cauldron, where it resumed stirring the mixture on its' own accord.

The woman was younger than Hermione expected, perhaps in her mid-twenties. She had clear and pale skin with sparkling blue eyes and short-cropped auburn hair. She grinned widely and wiped her hands off on a kitchen apron worn over a set of red-colored robes.

"Granger, is it? The Headmaster talks a lot about you. Glad you're here, lass, and glad you'll be helping us out for the Yule Ball. Looks like they chose well to me, so good for you. I'm Layanne Hallien. Head staff cook."

The woman talked at a rapid pace and Hermione was barely aware she had finished till she stuck a hand out to her, grinning. She smiled and seized the witch's proffered hand to give it a quick shake.

"Well, I just hope I can help as best I can. It is good to meet you. But I am afraid...I might seem rather thick...I still don't understand what exactly it is I have been selected for, how am I helping you? There is some sort of award Dumbledore picked me for...?"

Layanne grinned and produced a stout wand from a pocket of her robes, giving it a wave which sent a tray of freshly baked rolls gliding out of an oven and onto one of the worktables. She seemed to consider Hermione closely before replying, her wand still in hand.

"An award...hmm. You could call it that. But you've been helping me, and the instructors as well, for months. Without you the Yule Ball simply wouldn't be the same at all. It's been years since a Headmaster picked a Yule Girl, you know. But you've prepared well: Filius did the charmwork perfectly."

Hermione scowled, her face a mask of confusion. What on earth was this woman talking about?

"I don't understand, Layanne...what do you mean, I've been prepa...".

Hermione's words were cut off abruptly as the chef witch swiftly raised her wand and waved it in a twirling motion through the air. The chestnut-haired witch squirmed and thrashed as she felt what seemed to be invisible ropes binding her in the air and lifting her off the ground. Her expression was shocked and face pale: words failed her. To be attacked blatantly here at Hogwarts, and by a member of the staff the Headmaster had sent her to? What the hell was happening?

The kitchen witch advanced on her. There was a gentle smile playing at her lips and her wand was at her side, pointing at Hermoine as she struggled and floated in the air. All around them house elves continued working as if nothing was out of the ordinary: proceeded about their tasks, be it chopping massive piles of vegetables or attending to cooking meat. Layanne halted inches away from the young woman and smiled up at her face warmly.

"Now, be a good little witch and don't struggle, Hermione. It will go easier that way. And by prepared...well, haven't you been? All that food and indulging yourself so."

The older female first lightly laid her hand on the captive witch's belly, then jabbed her firmly with her wand. A hand stole up and lightly cupped one of her breasts before squeezing it. Hermione gasped and kicked helplessly at the air. Her eyes were wide and startled and her heart beat fast in her chest, edging her on towards panic.

"What is this?", she cried out. "Let me go, please. I don't understand."

Hermione's voice shook as she spoke and her hands twisted uselessly at her sides. She took rapid shallow breaths and she felt all too aware now of the weight of her protruding stomach, and how far before her it swelled outwards.

Layanne merely grinned and started walking across the kitchen. She flicked her wand and Hermione floated behind her, still unable to move or free herself. As she walked the red-haired woman looked back over her shoulder at the terrified young witch and clucked her tongue softly before speaking.

"Now, now, surely you understand by this point. You're supposed to be the smartest in your year. All the teachers seem to think so anyway. You were selected, dear. And on the first day back at school, you were placed under a rather strong charm. Increasing your appetite and ability to eat. The Headmaster made a wise choice, didn't he? You've gotten very nice and plump. Perfectly juicy and round: a fine entree for the Yule Ball. That's what the Yule Girl does, you know. Fattened up as much as possible and then she is cooked to be the main course for her fellow students and the staff."

All color drained from Hermione's face as she heard those words. She looked as if she had been Stunned: her jaw slack and eyes wide. She shook her head in disbelief and redoubled her efforts to struggle, but her invisible bonds held fast and her limbs did not move so much as an inch even as her face turned red with exertion. Her captor merely watched her with a small grin on her face. She waved her wand and Hermione's own wand, long her constant magical aid and weapon both, slipped out of her pocket and floated to where Layanne could grab it. She pocketed it and Hermione knew then she truly had no hope. But she had to try to talk her way out of this and fast. She had to try, before things really got dire for her.

"Please, please. Layanne. I know I don't know you but you can't do this, you aren't evil. Not like...You-Know-Who, and his followers. This will be killing me if you cook me. Please, call Professor Dumbledore: there must be a mistake."  
Her eyes were wide and pleading and the cook girl could see she was on the verge of tears. She opened her mouth once more (doubtless to plead further) and Layanne took action. A flick of her wand, and a polished red apple zoomed from one of the large trays of vegetables then wedged itself into the young witch's mouth. Her voice was quelled and the round fruit firmly gagged her. It was then that the first single tear trickled down Hermione's cheek.

"Sorry, darling, but that will make it go easier for both you and me. Pleading, I'm afraid, would get you nowhere fast and the Headmaster is quite busy just now. If you thought you could change his mind, well...he told me himself earlier today how fat you looked and how delicious you'd be."

Once more the kitchen witch's hand stole out, and this time she squeezed Hermione's plush belly fondly and gripped the extra swell of flesh she had gained.

"No, I'm afraid from here on out talking is not allowed from you. We've got nothing more to discuss. It's time to make you ready for dinner."

Layanne patted the girl's rump lightly as she spoke those words, and another motion with her wand caused the girl's clothes to rip and fall away from her body, leaving her nude. Hermione shuddered and another tear escaped from her as she tried to speak through the apple that firmly filled her mouth and pinned her tongue. This was horrible, she thought. Her mind was steadily degrading into outright panic. She tried to force herself to think logically as to how to free herself from this predicament, but all spells or countercurses required a wand and the use of her voice.

Even as her quick mind scanned and rejected various magical means of escape, her situation proceeded to grow more dire. The female cook raised her wand and levitated Hermione's restrained form over to a large roasting pan. A layer of vegetables was already arrayed within: grilled eggplant slices, chopped onions and peppers, roasted cubes of tomato and squash. Hermione gracefully turned over in the air as Layanne moved her, then settled down seemingly as lightly as a feather on top of the bed of vegetables.

Her legs drew up seemingly of their own accord, knees bent outwards, and her arms lay atop her belly, wrists placed lightly over her ankles. She could only stare helplessly up at the ceiling, her heart racing and the apple firmly choking her pleas off. She could feel her mouth growing dry and jaw aching slowly. Her stomach seemed heavy and ponderous as the swollen curve of it stuck up in the air.

"Now, let's see...oh yes."

The kitchen witch grinned down at Hermione and waved her wand: thick ropes bound her wrists and ankles in place.

"Saves me from having to concentrate on the spell holding you in place, dear."

Layanne smiled warmly and patted the captive witch's stomach. She then bit her lower lip in concentration before smiling anew and snapping her fingers. She strode off with purpose, leaving Hermione to struggle softly. Now her neck was aching as well and she could feel her eyes tearing up, staring aimlessly at the stone ceiling of the kitchen. Her belly rumbled uneasily and the weight of it pressed her downwards uncomfortably. How had she been so foolish to not see she had been charmed? Why had she given in so easily?

She had gotten fat without a qualm: plumped and prepared like a market hog. And now here she was, being prepared to be cooked like a pig. She moaned softly through the apple jammed in her mouth and a few more tears escaped her. She was in serious trouble this time, and no last-minute unlikely save from an unexpected magical quarter would rescue her.

All too soon, the bound witch heard Layanne returning. Footsteps echoed on the stone floor towards her, advancing slowly. To her dismay she heard a familiar voice squeak out from somewhere very nearby as well.

"Yes, Dobby can do it, Miss Hallien!".

Hermione struggled futilely as she saw a pair of long-fingered hands appear on the table edge, and the house-elf pulled himself up with an effort. The small creature was grinning ashamedly and clutching a ceramic bowl nearly as big as he was. One hand reached in and produced a scoop of finely-textured spices. The elf hesitated and his large eyes met hers for a brief instant.

"Dobby is sorry, Miss Granger. Dobby knows you are a friend of Harry Potter. But Dobby must do as he is asked and prepare the Yule Girl!", he squeaked.

With that, he dumped the spice mixture onto Hermione's skin. Small clawed hands kneaded it into her flesh. Soon enough the handfuls seemed to be going too slowly, and the house elf dumped the whole bowl onto the bound girl, causing her to sneeze loudly. Her head swam and her limbs ached. She was barely aware of the elf apologizing as the seasoning mix was worked into her bare flesh.

At last the small hands left her flesh, which was now sore all over and tingled as the spices worked their way into it. The apple felt like it was choking her and she took small frantic breaths through her nose. Layanne's face swam into her field of vision again, grinning broadly.

"Sorry about all this, Granger, but nearly done. And nothing for it now but to move forward. But don't you look lovely? Delicious, too...".

The witch patted her bare stomach and gripped it firmly, squeezing the layer of fat Hermione had gained. She moaned softly and wriggled in the pan. Her legs flexed uselessly and one knee struck the metal side of the vessel, sending a flare of pain through her lower body.

"Now, stop that, dear. You'll only make it worse. Lay still like a good girl now."

Hermione clenched and unclenched her bound fists, trying to regain some control of herself. Her heart hammered in her chest. The absurdly friendly looking face of the cook vanished from her field of view and she steeled herself for the next horrible step in this increasingly frightening process. She felt something cold and sticky being ladled over her body. And just as she feared, Layanne had no trouble telling her exactly what it was.

"A nice maple-bourbon sauce. Should go well with such fatty meat, you know: it's spiced up with some oriental peppers so you will have some kick. I made it myself. The Headmaster does want you to be perfect, Granger. It really is quite an honor. And you got yourself very superbly fat, I must say. Can't let a quality meat girl like you go to waste."

Hermione could feel herself growing weaker by the minute. Her wrists and ankles throbbed where the ropes cut into them and her hands and feet felt numb and useless. Some witch she was: she couldn't free herself from one damn pan and two lengths of rope. Shame and panic seemed to rise in her throat, threatening to gag her. This couldn't be actually happening. There was no way she was going to be cooked. Everything would be all right: it had to.  
Even as she tried to grasp onto those reassuring thoughts, reality conspired against her. She felt the cook witch’s hand on her thigh and felt her leg being spread slightly. A harsh gasp was stifled by the apple as she felt warm fingers, slick with some sticky liquid, enter her sex. Her cheeks flushed red and she uselessly thrashed as best she could against the invading digits, only to have the hand holding her leg squeeze down harshly.

“Lay still, Granger. I am going to stuff you either way. I will use force if you make me.”

Hermoine gulped and a few hot tears went down her freckled, burning cheeks. She tried to breathe as deeply as possible and make herself hold still. The fingers retreated from her private area but she feared worse was yet to come. Her suspicions proved horribly correct: after a pause in which she heard a liquidy squeaking sound, a thick cold length was shoved none-too-gently into her exposed vagina. A cucumber? Some kind of squash? No way to tell, but it was horridly uncomfortable and the rippled texture of it unwelcome. She bucked her hips fruitlessly and bit down harder into the apple which stopped her words.

That was not the end, however. Before she quite realized the implication she was being raised and lifted from the pan by her hips and some sort of rounded vegetable slipped under her rear to prop it into the air. Those warm, greasy fingers now teased at her tight asshole. She tried to pitch back and forth, mind now barely registering logical thought. Her entire body screamed in protest of what must be coming next. One of Layanne’s hands pressed on her belly and another thick cylindrical vegetable was pushed unceremoniously into her ass. Her cheeks felt flaming hot and her throat screamed for water. The young witch ached all over and shame and panic enveloped her mind. It had to end soon: please, just let it end, she thought.

As if caused by her thoughts, the roasting pan slowly rose into the air. Hermione was born aloft and she felt herself slowly drifting along. Layanne walked behind her, wand out. The young witch squirmed softly. This was it, no going back. The decision had been made. She was practically just meat now. She tried to calm herself and ignore the various pains and protests from her body. The ceiling glided by. It would all be over soon. She was just a pig. Hell, she was the fattest pig likely to grace a Hogwarts table in years. She had excelled as she did in all things. Was that why she had been chosen...? Because her instructors knew she would be the best possible candidate and would fulfill her chosen role beyond expectations?

Her head rolled back slightly and she rotated her tied wrists. Not much longer. It would be ok. This is what happened to pigs, she told herself. She was a particularly fat ham girl, that was all. There was no use fighting it. She caught the barest glimpse of the metal doors of a large oven gliding open behind her, and then she was floating inside gracefully. A loud clank was heard as the pan fell onto a metal grate. All was dark around her and she could not escape. Pigs didn't get to leave the oven, she told herself. Not uncooked, anyway.

The last human voice she heard was Layanne. She felt the soft touch of the girl's lips on her fingers, and a light pat on her round stomach.

"Better you than me, Granger. I'm sorry about this. But traditions are traditions. You'll do your friends proud I know, at least."

A sharp poke to her belly followed this, and then the sound of the oven doors closing. All was dark and quiet. Hermione breathed in and out slowly through her nose. Think of it like a spa. A warm pool. At least until it starts to burn. You are a pig: this is what happens to pigs. You did your task brilliantly.

The air around her got thicker and warmer. She seemed to see a shimmering orange light at the corners of her eyes. Her heart beat slowly and she focused all her willpower on remaining calm. Meat, now. Just meat. She wouldn't panic. It was right this was happening to her: she had brought it on herself. Bought and paid for. Her skin started to heat up and the spices began to smell as they toasted. Oh, god. She could smell herself cooking now.

Her skin was taut feeling and the heat only grew more intense. Her throat burned and worked and her rump and sex ached. Just meat. Stay calm. It would all be over soon and she would do her job well. Smartest witch of her age? She'd be the fattest, most succulent and delicious witch. Hogwarts Grade A pig girl. Her belly rumbled as she caught a whiff of herself cooking. It would be over soon, she thought. Hermione Granger closed her eyes and thought of all that had happened to her, and all that was to come. No use resisting it now. She was a pig. The feast would be starting soon.

An hour later in the Great Hall. Magical non-melting snow fell from the bewitched ceiling even as stars twinkled there. Small live pixies fluttered about the Christmas trees and candles glowed from within (safely enchanted so as not to catch the trees on fire, of course). Students chattered happily and exchanged banter between the long tables. Ginny and Luna sat together regardless of house. At the staff table, Dumbledore happily led the entire school in a rousing carol or two and passed along several excellent bottles of wine he had brought out for the occasion.

A soft shimmering golden light covered the long banquet table placed at the center of the room. It grew and intensified, and a score of dishes appeared slowly, sent up from the main kitchen below. Roasted chestnuts and giant tureens of rich gravy. Platters of bacon and homemade crusty breads. Mashed potatoes filled giant bowls and rich puddings were in delicate glass stemmed containers. Stewed plums and apricots sat alongside steaming bowls of duck stew. For dessert, long platters were covered in baked honey rolls, brownies, cookies, tarts and pies. But all this splendor went largely unnoticed compared to the centerpiece of the feast: the Yule Girl.

Hermione was presented atop a bed of grilled vegetables, her head raised high and eyes closed. Her well-marbled form was golden and dripping with a thick sauce, cooked apple holding her mouth open. She was trussed tightly still and face peaceful. A stunned silence greeted the appearance of the cooked witch: a fascinating and slightly terrifying sight, but there was no denying how delicious she looked and smelled. Many of her fellow students could not help their mouths from watering or imagining how she would taste. Nude, her form was even fatter and more delectable than could have been guessed even by those who had observed her gaining weight. All eyes were on her until the Headmaster lightly tapped his goblet with a fork.

"Well, now that we all see what a stunning dinner we have before us, I shall simply say: Hermione Granger clearly has been chosen to be the Hogwarts Yule Girl. A proud (if obscure) tradition dating back centuries. She rose admirably to the challenge and quite put on the necessary weight: she is the second fattest selected girl to be cooked, as I recall, after young Gilda Grimhall in 1760. I won't bore you with the particulars, but I might assure you it is a thrilling and evocative tale. Now, we had better not let the young lady and the rest of this excellent feast go to waste. Dig in, pip pip!".

Benches were pushed back and a queue of hungry students snaked its' way around the hall, ready to load up plates and consume a little of everything on offer but especially to pile plates high with Yule Girl meat. Small talk was subdued as all enjoyed the wide variety of quality food (apart, naturally, from constant talk about exactly how big Granger was and whether she was willing or not, and of course discussion of the taste of the meat itself.)

Later, after the feast was done, Ginny Weasley was alone in Gryffindor Tower's girls dormitory. She shifted slightly on her comfortable bed and rubbed her full stomach. The meat had been amazing: a distinctive taste somewhere between the best roast goose and high quality rich ham. She had filled three plates with meat alone. A soft groan left her lips: she felt like a pig herself after that repast. She would miss Hermione, but she couldn't help but think of how it must have felt to indulge in food so and gain the weight. Maybe back home, Mum and Dad would hear her out. Maybe she could talk her way into being the Yule Girl next year for the Weasley holiday party, if she got plump enough. She'd have to wait and see. It was what her friend would have wanted and encouraged, she thought. Hermione was always smart enough to know you should follow your heart most of all. As Ginny drifted off to sleep and her stomach contentedly gurgled, she pictured her friend's face, serene and dripping with sauce, golden brown, the apple in her lips. The honor of the Yule Girl selection truly had been her crowning achievement, there could be no doubt.


End file.
